


I May be Bad (but I'm Perfectly Good at it)

by kerfuffling



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerfuffling/pseuds/kerfuffling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chris drags Jensen to a gay club, he did not expect to be hit on by a giant drag queen. Nor did he anticipate liking it as much as he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I May be Bad (but I'm Perfectly Good at it)

“This is stupid,” Jensen complains, rolling his eyes as Chris tosses a green button-down shirt and some jeans onto the bed, only pausing in his perusal of Jensen’s closet to flip him a one finger salute without even looking up.

“You’re fucking stupid,” Chris retorts.

“You’re a fucking five year old,” Jensen shoots back, the only insult he could come up with on such short thinking time. 

“At least I’m getting some,” Chris says smugly, which doesn’t even make sense.

“Not while Amy’s out of town visiting her mom,” Jensen counters with his eyebrow raised, which prompts Chris to throw a pair of rolled up socks at Jensen’s head.

“Shut your mouth,” Chris says. “I’m trying to help you here, son, and you’re being a fucking prick.”

“No,” Jensen says, “you’re trying to pimp me out to some over-sexed twink.”

“You’ve been in such a shitty mood since Tom--” Chris says.

“Oh, fuck you,” Jensen mutters, making to stand up.

“--and I’m fucking sick and tired of it. Tom was an asshole. Get over it.”

“I’m over it, Jesus. Just because I’m not throwing myself around like a man-whore--”

“I almost wish you were,” Chris sighs, “you’d be less moody. Although the STDs might not be worth it.”

“The only one in this apartment with a diseased dick is you, asshole,” Jensen says. “And I’m not going.”

“Stop being a baby. Just put the shirt on, pretty yourself up, and let’s get outta here. Taxi’s coming in twenty, and I’m not pissing the guy off because my roommate’s being a fucking pussy.”

“This is such a fucking awful idea,” Jensen mutters. “I hate fucking gay clubs.”

“I don’t fucking care. If I have to spend my Friday night with your ass, the least you can do is not deprive me of the pleasure of seeing lesbians dry-fuck on the dance floor. Amy’s gone for a week--I need something to get me through.”

“She’s gonna kick your ass.”

“Correction-- _I’ll_ kick your ass if you don’t get the fuck ready. And if you mention anything to her,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“You’re pussy-whipped,” Jensen says. “And I’m still not going.”

“If you don’t want me to tell Danneel about what happened to that science-major she had a crush on...” Chris threatens raising an eyebrow.

“That’s not fucking fair, man!” Jensen complains. “How was I supposed to know that he was totally hot and had a hard-on for blow-jobs?”

“You could’ve left him alone,” Chris singsonged. “You could’ve just let Danneel know her lover-boy was gay instead of taking him out on a date behind her back.”

“You’re low,” Jensen says, scowling. 

 “Face it--you’re just mad that you don’t have that kind of dirt on me.”

“Maybe I’ll just tell Amy that you spent your time when she was gone perving on barely-legal lesbos.”

“Eh, knowing Amy, she’d probably just be jealous she didn’t get to come along. Weak try, man.”

Jensen knows when to concede defeat, especially in the face of Chris’s persuasion--he always follows through on his threats.

“Get outta here, homo,” Jensen says finally. “I’m not changing with you around.”

“Atta boy, Jensen,” Chris beams.

**

When they get into the club, Jensen almost turns right around and walks back out. It’s a sea of glitter and mesh, with the strong smell of _Axe_ in the air mingling with a muted undertone of musk, jizz, and perspiration. And, if the fumes haven’t fucked his head up, he thinks he sees a drag show going on on a platform in the back, surrounded by people holding up dollar bills and hollering, just loud enough to be heard over the techno music throbbing so heavily that Jensen can feel the vibration of it in his stomach.

“You’ve gotta be fucking joking me!” he yells to Chris, who either doesn’t hear him or is just ignoring Jensen as he makes way to the boy manning the bar. Jensen sticks close--he is _not_ getting lost in this madness, and five minutes later, Chris is sipping on a double whiskey on the rocks while Jensen humiliatingly is nursing a bright pink drink that’s so strong it tastes like drainage cleaner.

“I fucking hate you,” he yells, and this time Chris does respond, smirking a little and gesturing over to a pair of girls who are making out in one of the secluded booths, being very unsubtle.

“I don’t fucking care,” Chris says, leaning over to shout in Jensen’s ear so he hears it. “We’re staying, and I’m getting trashed so you might as well too.” He leans against the bar, already earning some well-deserved looks as his shirt pulls tightly over his chest. Chris isn’t gay--far from it--but Jensen knows he’ll play it up as far as he can to hopefully get some free liquor from any admirers.

Sure enough, within five minutes, Chris is being chatted up with a guy wearing obscenely tight pants, and Jensen knows that this other kid is checking him out from the corner, and he does not want to have to deal with that shit. Chris doesn’t even notice as Jensen slips away, and he almost makes for the door except that he knows Chris will be fuckin’ pissed if he finds out Jensen bailed. So, instead, he goes in the opposite direction as his would-be seducer, which unfortunately leads him to the stage, where a women-cum-man is doing some sort of dance in a cut-off jean vest and fringe pants. It’s almost terrifying.

Jensen watches idly for a while, wincing at the too-bad dance routines and the jarring music as he finishes his drink. As soon as the glass is empty and Jensen has put it on top of a speaker, someone’s sidling up next to him, another pink drink in his hand, smiling winningly at Jensen.

“Pretty drink for a pretty boy,” he coos in Jensen’s ear, and Jensen shudders. He considers not taking the glass, but it’s already being pressed into his hands and it’s either that or ruining his favorite shoes.

“You did not just say that,” Jensen says dryly, and he has to sidestep as his new friend tries to put his hands on Jensen’s waist. 

“It’s true, baby. You’re the hottest thing out there.”

“Thanks for the drink,” Jensen says. “Now fuck off. I’m not interested.”

The man’s face immediately goes ugly, and he sneers, curling his bottom lip. “Prissy bitch,” he says, but he leaves, the hint received. Jensen wonders if the drink has been roofied, but he’s too lazy to push his way through to the bar again, and besides, free booze. Hopefully Chris will notice if Jensen falls over and starts getting trampled.

Jensen hunches over and generally tries to look as uninviting as possible, and in general it works. He still gets a couple of drunk boys trying to double-tag him into some sort of twink sandwich, but they quickly lose interest when Jensen makes it clear he doesn’t want to play, and they go off to bother someone else. Jensen actually has to buy his next drink, but the five bucks is worth it when he actually gets something made for a _man_ , and he takes liberal sips of his scotch as he continues to watch the show.

Everyone’s getting a little rowdy as the night goes on, and Jensen is getting buffeted on all sides by sweaty, horny people. It’s a little jarring, but he’s had just enough liquor to make it worthwhile, the room spinning around him pleasantly as his head goes heavy. The alcohol has made him just a little too warm, and he strips off his button-up, tying the arms around his waist. If he gets a little more attention after that, well then, that’s okay. He’s not doing anything about it, and the booze has taken the edge off enough that he doesn’t really care as long as no one tries to jump him.

The heavy strains of Rihanna fill the air, and Jensen groans under his breath. He might be drunk, but he’s not gone enough to appreciate the cliche of a song about S&M in the middle of a bar on a Friday night. He can hear people catcalling along with it, the room thrumming with the rhythm, and almost reluctantly he rolls his eyes enough so that he can see the stage.

And then he promptly wishes he hadn’t.

Jensen is gay, okay, but he isn’t fem-gay. He still likes sports and beer and pool and he dresses like the home-grown Texas boy he is. He’s attracted to the same type of person--that guy who you kinda think might be gay but you’re not really sure. It’s caused some heartache, but he maintains that if he wanted a girlfriend, he’d just go get some pussy and not a guy pretending to be one.

This guy? This guy who’s up on the stage--he should be the embodiment of what Jensen doesn’t look for in a guy. Dressed in a leather mini skirt and red thigh-high pleather boots (and who knew that boots even _came_ in that size?), rocking a crop top and dancing and lip syncing the stupid song, this guy is the same kind of drag queen Jensen’s been bemused by all night.

Except for how is isn’t.

He’s tall--fucking built--and he hasn’t shoved fake tits into his top. He’s just wearing it as is, the line of his shoulders obviously masculine, the bulge of his dick barely concealed by the skirt. He’s prettied his face up a little--some blush, a swish of lip gloss maybe, but he’s unmistakably male.

And he’s definitely turning Jensen’s crank.

Without thinking about it, Jensen pushes through the throng of people who’ve gathered at the edge of the stage until he’s practically close enough to touch. Somehow, he’s not exactly sure what he’s doing--this has _got_ to be the worst fucking idea ever-- but now that he’s close, he can see that the guy has shoved a riding crop into one of his boots, and is swinging a pair of hot pink gag handcuffs around as he pretends to sing the song, and it’s so stupid, so over-the-top, that it’s perfect. 

With no little difficulty, Jensen reaches into his pocket and manages to pull out a crumpled handful of dollar bills, sticky with beer and sweat, and he carefully wrangles one free. He shouldn’t be pandering to this guy, this fucking drag queen who’s dressed to the nines but still stupidly perfect, but he can’t help it. Normally, he’d be beet-red, shy and embarrassed, but he’s not sober enough to care, just holds the dollar between his index and middle finger and lifts his hand.

Almost immediately, the guy’s attention shifts to Jensen, and his painted mouth curves into a small smile as he continues to mouth the words about chains and whips and who the fuck knows what else. He saunters over, dancing badly enough that Jensen would find it hilarious if he wasn’t so fucking turned on, and takes the dollar. Jensen thinks that is that, but the guy pauses just long enough to bend down, practically curving himself in half, to drop a kiss on Jensen’s lips.

It’s quick enough that Jensen shouldn’t feel anything, but it sends shivers up his spine, the press of the stranger’s lips and then the withdrawal, a small spark that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. Absently, he presses two fingers to where the guy’s mouth had landed, and he can still feel his gaze, even as people cat-call around them. He suddenly feels a little more sober, a little more aware, and he allows himself to be drawn back into the crowd so he’s not as close to the stage anymore.

The song ends, and Jensen’s disappointed by the shortness of it all as the guy saunters off to let another take his place, some queen dressed in a cupcake bikini, obviously ready to do something by Katy Perry. Jensen watches, but now that the guy’s gone, the show’s just as kitschy and over-the-top as it was before, and not in a good way. He sticks around in the mess of people for a couple more performances, half-wishing the guy would come back for an encore, and feeling incredibly stupid about it, before he turns to go back to the bar. Either he’s getting another drink or he’s finding Chris and telling him it’s time to get the fuck outta dodge.

The drink wins out, and he’s just ordered a rum and coke, ready for the sweetness of it, when someone’s hand settles lightly on his hip, and a deep voice rumbles, “Make that two.” Jensen grits his teeth, and waits until the bartender’s gone to fill the order before he squirms out of his new suitor’s grasp.

He’s about to say, “Thanks but no thanks,” when he realizes just who has come up to him, and the words get stuck in his throat. It’s the guy--that S&M guy--and Jensen hopes he’s not gaping like a fish, because he feels his mouth drop open a little.

“Name’s Jared,” Tall Guy says, paying the bartender with what must be his earnings from his dance, Jensen’s dollar included. They’re just far enough away from the stage that it’s not too hard to hear him, and Jensen blurts the first thing he thinks of.

“That’s not a girl’s name,” he says, and then immediately has to resist the urge to clap his hand over his mouth.

The guy isn’t offended though, just throws his head back and laughs, showcasing his long neck and the sheen of sweat that’s collected at the divot of his collarbone. “Not a girl,” he counters, smiling wolfishly.

“That I definitely noticed,” Jensen says weakly, the alcohol obliterating his brain-mouth filter. He considers being embarrassed, but Jared is definitely amused, all dimples and sex-eyes.

“Good to know,” Jared says. “Saw you watchin’ me up there.”

Jensen nearly chokes on his drink, because yeah, Jared is hot, but Jensen is not nearly drunk enough to be fooled by pick-up lines as lame as that one. “‘Cause you look ridiculous. Almost as stupid as that line you just fed me.”

“Got you talking to me,” Jared says easily, slipping closer, leaning his hip against the bar so he’s all up in Jensen’s space. “Saw you shrug off that guy earlier, man. Harsh. And you know, it’s only polite to introduce yourself now that you know who I am.”

Jensen considers feeding Jared a fake name, but the truth slips from his mouth before he can stop it. “Jensen. And I can tell you’re obviously a glutton for punishment. Seeing as you already knew that I wasn’t lookin’ for anyone. Fucking stalker.” He says it with a hint of amusement so the guy won’t take offense or go away, but he still doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing. He’s completely out of his element here.

“I never miss a new face in here,” Jared says, and Jensen scoffs, because that’s definitely bullshit. “And maybe he just wasn’t your type?”

“And you are?” Jensen asks, raising an eyebrow. “Dude, you’re dressed like a girl, and I’m a guy in a gay club. What part of “my type” do you think you are?”

“You weren’t givin’ everyone up there dollars, if I remember correctly,” Jared says with a wink.

“Okay, now I’m a little creeped,” Jensen says, even though he isn’t, not really. Jared isn’t going to try anything in the middle of a crowded club, and there’s no way Jensen’s leaving with him, so he’s fairly safe unless Jared follows him home. 

Jared tilts his head and shrugs one shoulder, looking incredibly nonchalant. “I’d apologize, but you don’t sound like you’re unhappy about it.”

“Maybe I’m just an excellent actor,” Jensen shoots back.

Jared makes a little disbelieving noise and shrugs again. “Guess I’ll just go then,” he says, picking up his drink, but before he can move, Jensen’s hand moves of its own accord to land on Jared’s shoulder.

“God, thought you could take a joke,” he huffs, but he can feel himself grinning, just a slight upturn of his mouth that Jared mimics.

“In that case,” Jared says, settling back against the bar, closer to Jensen than before, exuding heat, “what are you doing here, pretty-Jensen?” 

“Don’t call me that. And drinking. Obviously. Watching you guys make a spectacle out of yourselves, but that’s really only because of the drinking.”

“There are about a million places to drink,” Jared points out, “but you chose to come here. Not my fault that you don’t care for the live entertainment. You could have left anytime. You fooled me, besides--looked like you were pretty into my dance from where I was.”

“Your dance was a travesty,” Jensen says. “I think I’ve seen three-year-olds do better.”

“You’ve seen a three-year-old dance around with a crop and handcuffs? Pervert.”

“Fuck you,” Jensen laughs--he likes this guy. No bullshit, which is a nice change for once. “You know what I meant. I was just taking pity on you, man. Thought even you deserved some money for makin’ a fool out of yourself.”

“A hot fool,” Jared says.

“A fool fool,” Jensen clarifies.

Jared’s hands settle on Jensen’s waist, and even though his brain’s not entirely on board with the thought of a stranger--a drag queen Jensen’s just met, mind-- touching him, there’s enough lust and alcohol to keep him from flinching away. Jared’s hands are big and warm, spanning Jensen’s waist, and after a moment, he finds he likes them there. They’re making his skin tingle, and he thinks, with a little encouragement, it wouldn’t take long for him to chub up in his jeans just from being next to Jared like this. He feels a little stupid and a lot like a teenager, but Jared just keeps _looking_ at him, so he’s gotta feel something too, even if it’s just superficial.

“You know you like me,” Jared says, and his voice is low, thrumming.

“I don’t know you,” Jensen points out. “A little forward today, don’t’cha think? I’m not that kinda guy, buddy.”

“I think you could be,” Jared says plaintively. “Now finish your drink.”

“Bossy,” Jensen says. “Why?”

“Because I want to dance with you.”

Jensen snickers a little at that, taking a liberal sip of his rum and coke, careful not to finish it off and give Jared what he wants. “I don’t dance.”

“Yeah sure,” Jared says, biting his lip. “I think you wanna.” 

“I think you suck at trying to persuade me,” Jensen says. “I’m happy here.”

“Okay, I’ll give you a choice,” Jared says, and Jensen already can tell that he’s not gonna like either option. “I can dance here, next to you, and make a scene at the bar. Or you can come out onto the floor with me and dance just like everyone else. Up to you, man.”

“You’re fucking evil,” Jensen says. 

“I know,” Jared says, downing the rest of his drink. “So?”

“Gimme a sec,” Jensen says, and he nearly chokes on the tail-end of his rum before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. This has got to be a bad idea, but his newest drink has just started to kick in, making him feel like everything he does is perfect, just what he needs, and he pushes off from the bar, staggering a little into Jared as he does so.

“Easy there,” Jared says, but he looks happy, moving his hands from Jensen’s waist and then grabbing Jensen’s wrist to drag him out into the throng of dancers. At first, it’s a little overwhelming, everyone crowding around them, people jeering at Jared and giving Jensen the look over, but Jared just pulls him close and begins to move to the beat.

Without a routine, Jared doesn’t even try to keep a rhythm, and Jensen tucks himself into him, going with the bump and grind, careful not to get so close to propagate a fit of dry humping. Jared doesn’t seem to mind, just keeps running his hand up and down Jensen’s spine, occasionally brushing his lips on Jensen’s ear to sing the song that’s currently playing, off-key but oddly intimate, as though it’s only for Jensen to hear.

Jensen is tense for the first ten minutes, keeps expecting Jared to pull him closer, turn this into something more, but Jared seems perfectly fine with his hands settled on Jensen’s hips, throwing his head back every so often, leaving space between them. He’s completely ignoring the debauchery around them, the people who are practically fucking right out in the open to the music, and Jensen can only have eyes for him, the way his make-up doesn’t hide the flush of his cheeks, the bitten red of his mouth. Jensen’s hands, which had been awkwardly at his sides, humped out around Jared’s arms, have somehow found themselves wrapped around Jared’s neck. It’s a girl’s stance--which is especially odd seeing as how Jared’s the one actually _dressed_ like a girl, but Jensen likes it, doesn’t want to change positions once he’s figured out how he’s shifted to occupy more of Jared’s space.

And still Jared doesn’t make a move, just dancing slowly, less spastically now, swaying with Jensen to a beat that definitely doesn’t match the bass thumping out of the speakers. It’s this, maybe, the way that Jared isn’t acting like everyone else, wanting just sex and nothing more, that makes Jensen surge up. It’s a sloppy kiss at first, awkward as Jensen’s on his toes to make it work, smacking and quick, and for a second, Jensen thinks he blew it. Jared looks surprised, and Jensen’s about to apologize when those damn dimples break out again, and this time it’s Jared ducking down.

It’s the same as before, back when Jared was on the stage, but somehow things feel more real now. Jensen knows that this isn’t for show, isn’t a ploy to get more money out of horny club-goers. Jared’s kiss is surprisingly soft, non insistent, and Jensen sighs into it, his mouth falling open a little, pressing his tongue to the seam of Jared’s lips, coaxing him into it.

It should be more odd than it is, making out with a cross-dresser on a busy dance floor. It’s something Jensen’s never done--this isn’t his scene--but it’s undeniably the right thing to be doing. Jared hums into Jensen’s mouth, and even though Jensen can’t hear it over the techno, he can feel the vibration of it. He winds his arms tighter around Jared’s neck, and Jared comes closer, his left hand coming to sit just below Jensen's jaw, Jared’s thumb stroking the stubble there.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, pressed together by the crowd, kissing without a sense of urgency, without anything to say that it’s going to lead anywhere but kissing. The alcohol is still making things heady for Jensen, a little fuzzy and pleasantly light, but he knows what he’s doing. He _likes_ what he’s doing.

Someone stumbles into Jensen, making him trip sideways, away from Jared’s mouth. Although Jared steadies him with those big hands of his, the moment is somewhat broken, even though Jared’s still looking at him, almost fondly. Jensen licks the taste of lip gloss from his mouth, almost teasingly, though he isn’t trying to lead them anywhere. The crowd is finally thinning out--either it’s later than Jensen thinks, or they all have another club to be at, but in any case, Jensen’s starting to feel a little out-of-sorts standing in the middle of a club with a guy he barely knows anything about apart from the feel of his mouth.

“Need some fresh air,” Jensen says abruptly, because the alcohol’s finally beginning to taper off, and he’s feeling a little stupid. If Chris saw, he’ll be making fun of Jensen for _weeks_ , so Jensen jerks his thumb towards the door and then slips free of Jared’s grasp.

For a second, he thinks he’s shaken Jared off for good, but the guy just follows him, winding through haphazard clumps of people and out into the crisp night, right on Jensen’s heels.

“You’re kinda indecisive, aren’t you?” Jared says, and it’s nothing more than an observation, but it kind of makes Jensen’s blood boil. “Hot, cold, hot.”

“Sorry that my personality is so annoying to you,” Jensen grits out. Now that he’s not pushed in by the music and the crowd and the omnipresent smell of Axe, it’s harder to go along with things like it was before.

“Didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Jared says casually, leaning against the wall of the club and propping his leg behind him, looking like the world’s worst hooker.

“I’m not going home with you tonight,” Jensen blurts, something that’s been at the back of his mind since he met Jared at the bar. “And you’re not coming home with me either. I didn’t come here to fuck a stranger.”

“I am not that kind of lady,” Jared says blandly. He doesn’t look upset or surprised by the news; in fact, Jensen thinks he can see the hint of a smile lurking behind his eyes.

“I don’t mess around with people,” Jensen continues. “I’m not going to be your fling.”

“Not looking for a one-time bedwarmer,” Jared says, still calm. “Sorry if you thought I was.”

“You came up to me in a club, dressed in that,” Jensen says, gesturing wildly. “What did you want from me?”

“Stop being neurotic,” Jared says, and he laughs a little, pushing off from the wall. “Honestly, I thought you were cute and I wanted to talk to you a little. The kissing was a bonus, but last I remember, you were the one who started that.”

“So we walk away,” Jensen says. “It’s been fun, man, but I don’t think--”

“Oh, come on, you’re not gonna ditch me now,” Jared scoffs. “Not after what you pulled on the dance floor.” All of a sudden he’s all over Jensen, and Jensen tries to strike out as Jared snakes a hand into his pocket, ready to draw blood, but Jared’s gone as fast as he came onto him, holding Jensen’s phone in his huge hand.

“Give that back,” Jensen snaps.

“Gimme a sec,” Jared says, and he thumbs it on and starts playing with the keys. Jensen knew he should’ve password protected the thing when he had the chance. He keeps struggling to get it from Jared, but the guy is squirmy, turning this way and that until he does what he wants to do apparently, handing back Jensen’s cell without protest.

“My number’s in there,” he says. “Under Jared. You should give me a call. Unless you’re too much of a cowardly shit.”

“You’re the one in the dress,” Jensen says, but something has bloomed, warm in his stomach.

“Sexist,” Jared scolds. “Girls are plenty brave.” Jensen has nothing to say to that, no come back that’s on the tip of his tongue, and Jared just smiles again, darting down to give Jensen a quick peck on the lips. 

“Talk to you later, Jensen,” he says, and then he slips back into the club, leaving Jensen to wait outside for Chris.

**

Jensen almost considers leaving the cafe five separate times. He feels monumentally stupid, and he wishes that he’d had the forethought to get drunk, because being tipsy was the only way he’d been able to scroll down to Jared’s number and call him in the first place. Jared had been somehow different on the phone--warmer, less seductive, _funny_ , and when he suggested coming out for some food the following Friday, Jensen didn’t want to say no.

But now he’s loitering outside, looking like a freak, ten minutes early with his heart in his mouth. He’s trying to calm down, because he’s a guy and this is a date, and there’s no fucking reason to care this much, but it’s hard. He remembers Jared in this _way_ and he doesn’t want it to be ruined by the light of day and the harsh reality of sobriety.

He’s not even sure what he should be looking for--will Jared come up in a dress? In a skirt, maybe, or a tight girl’s t-shirt? He almost wishes that he’d been slut enough to just go home with Jared that first night because then he’d know whether or not he just needed one night to get him out of his system.

“Jensen?” someone asks, a little hesitantly but there all the same, and when Jensen turns to look, it’s Jared, of course, there and tall and beaming. He furrows his eyebrows; can’t help it because Jared is wearing normal _men_ clothes, a henley and some nice, dark jeans. Nothing like how he looked when Jensen first met him, and it _works_. Heat ignites in Jensen’s belly, a low, tight furl of it, and he bites his lower lip.

Jared’s beginning to look a little nervous, worried, twirling his handcuff keychain absently in his hand, and Jensen feels his heart speed up, because there’s something about this that makes him feel right, and he knows it.

“Hi, Jared,” he says, leaning forward to give Jared a short, tight, unexpected hug, and he’s sure right then that he has fucking _excellent_ taste in drag queens.

 

END


End file.
